Could Have Been
by LuminaCarina
Summary: She doesn't need this nostalgia anymore.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter**

 **Prompts:** ebony; mascara; letter; ''I can't get you off my mind.''; Spotlight, by Patrick Stump

 **Summary:** She doesn't need this nostalgia anymore.

#

There's something to be said about girls. They're annoying and needy, and so awfully selfish, and they get so offended when you even imply that they aren't all sunshine and roses, but when it comes down to it, they're as tough as nails.

Growing up in a house with five brothers – big, tough, doing their best to be manly – and only one baby sister who cried when she got a splinter – it makes for the belief … not that girls are lesser, but certainly weaker than boys. With Ginny for an example, how could he think anything but?

But then: he's a Beater, as is George, and they're together forever – and there's Katie. Katie is the youngest team member at just twelve, and she's crying in the changing rooms, small, heaving sobs more fitting to a small animal than a witch.

He doesn't talk to her, or try to comfort her. Katie has her arms wrapped around her knees, mouth pressed into the palms of her hands – she doesn't need his comfort. She stops crying on her own, she wipes her tears and untangles her fingers from the uniform on her own, the ebony fabric creased and sweaty.

''I'll show them,'' she says into the quiet, hoarse and tired. ''I'll show them,'' she says, defiant to the end. He thinks, as he watches her stumble to her feet and gather her things, that perhaps he shouldn't have dismissed her so soon, because age and gender don't really matter that much in the face of honest to Merlin skill, and – maybe he'll help her out the next time Oliver demands perfection.

#

There's this thing about girls, but more than that, there's this thing about Katie: she shouldn't be as girly as she is. Because it doesn't make sense, the way she scorns mascara and lipstick in favour of training, and yet she still looks radiant when she smiles. There's something about her, when she grins wide and open – she unravels at the seams, and glows, regardless of her clothes or makeup or anything else.

George teases him: ''Freddie and Katie, sitting in a tree –'' but it doesn't matter. It's not a crush, Fred knows this in his heart of hearts. This is … something else. Admiration. Confusion. Probably awe. But he's never been in love and he has no plans to fall in love with anyone anytime soon, so it's alright, in the end.

It's better that he isn't in love with her – and he isn't, because he asks dreams about Angelina's hips and hands and eyes – and Katie … to be in love with Katie would be to demean her.

But Katie's still so very girly. It's a jarring contrast, really, between Katie and Angelina, and the rest of the world. He thinks: ''I'm not in love with Katie, but maybe I should be.'' And the thought hurts, because he doesn't know how to fall in love, and –

Well. It'll all work out somehow.

#

When the Yule Ball comes around, he asks Angelina out. Because Angelina is lovely and sensual and he's expected to get together with Angelina. And Katie goes with someone else. When he writes a Christmas letter to Charlie, he doesn't say anything about Katie. He talks about George and the music and the lights, and he doesn't talk about Angelina either.

''Do you want to talk about it?'' that's what Katie told Leanne after the Ball. He's spying on them again, but it's an accident, and he doesn't mean to do it – it's an accident. Eavesdropping is always an accident.

Leanne says something, but he only has eyes for Katie. She isn't wearing a dress; instead, she wears a pretty skirt and a blouse, and her hair is in the same hairstyle as ever. She's just the same as usual. He wonders: what girl doesn't look her best for a party?

Perhaps, he thinks, Katie doesn't care about that. Or maybe she always looks her best.

#

Before the Battle, he doesn't see Katie anywhere. Maybe she hasn't come. Maybe she'd dead already. He sits and waits, and says: ''I'm sorry.'' He's sorry for everything: for not talking to her, for not comforting her when she cried, for never getting around to helping her out, for never asking her for a dance – ''I'm sorry,'' and it's such a stupid statement.

''Do you want to talk about it?'' George asks, and he says: ''No, I don't,'' and that's that.

Only, there's this thing about girls, and Ginny's grown up to be the strongest woman he knows, and she's stronger than most men, and he wishes Katie was there to tell him not to break his head about it.

And when he does see her, in the distance, dodging spells left and right, he wants to raise his voice and say: ''I can't get you off my mind,'' and ''Do you want to dance?'' and even ''I think I'm in love with you,'' but he says instead: ''It's good to see you again,'' and she doesn't her him at all.

Perhaps, he thinks, it's for the best.

#

She's twelve, and she's crying her heart out. She thought it would be different, learning magic and wonders, but it isn't. She's crying her heart out, and she wants him to come out and comfort her. But he doesn't, and that, perhaps, hurts more than the actual wound itself.

''I'll show them,'' she says, and she isn't sure who ''they'' are. Maybe the Quidditch team. Maybe everyone.

She waits for a few moments, waits for him to come out and tell her it'll all be alright. He doesn't do any such thing, and that's the moment when she realises that she's never going to bet good enough. Not for the school, not for them, not for him – but maybe she can be good enough for herself.

She'll show them all.

Years and years later, she stares at his body, laid out on the stone floor, and she thinks about _could_ _have beens_ and _should have beens_ , and she thinks: she doesn't need this nostalgia anymore. She grew out of it long ago, when she waited for her crush to save her and he never came.

She showed them all. So why, she wonders, does it feel so bitter?

#

 **Unedited; un-beta'd.**


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